


In Distress 'N Disarray

by saruma_aki



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Messed Up, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Tears, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saruma_aki/pseuds/saruma_aki
Summary: It always felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was drowning, like he couldn't tell up from down or left from right. It felt like he would suffocate, like he was being strangled, like there were hands holding him tight and refusing to let him move and try and fight his way back to the surface.And it scared him.ORIn which I got an idea and spent weeks writing this in my classes instead of bothering to do actual work. I had feels and had to share, okay? I'm not sorry (except for maybe a bit).





	In Distress 'N Disarray

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this took me a while, but I really wanted to write this. This is actually one of my favorite ideas, so I hope you guys get as much enjoyment out of it as I do. This is my second work for the Hamilton fandom, so I'm a bit nervous.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

James sat and watched, his eyes flicking over every flutter of hands, drinking in every gesture, every glimmer in his eyes, every shape his mouth formed, the shift of his hair as he moved about. His ears pulled in the sound of his voice, of the slight thickening of the small Southern drawl that was more pronounced than his own, especially whenever he got to the peak of his statement and how it would recede like the tide when he reached the closing. He watched the curve of his lips curve up into a satisfied smirk as Hamilton floundered on the other side for a moment.

Thomas was a force to be reckoned with whenever it came to debates—especially against Hamilton. He was the very definition of expressive and concise, sarcasm dripping from his lips like honey spread over a thin tone of mocking whenever he made a jab at Hamilton to get him more riled up.

The jabs were so fast and bountiful between them that the teacher didn’t even have a chance to intervene and tell them to keep it civil most of the time.

And the class would just watch, but they wouldn’t be watching in as much detail as James was, wouldn’t be listening too closely for the slight stall in a word on Thomas’ part that told him he had to intervene.

It was only two more minutes before it was there, the slight stall, the sudden added gruffness to Thomas’ voice, his eyes narrowing and widening at the same time somehow, his fingers curling around the edge of the podium, the pressure solely on his palms even though James knew Thomas wanted to grip the wood and hold on for dear life, but the man wouldn’t risk being so obvious.

And Hamilton, of course, didn’t notice—no one ever did. Thomas was a master at hiding his ‘problem’ even though James didn’t think it was really one at all—it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. If anything, it made Thomas more admirable in his eyes because he would put himself out there in high stress situations and even low stress situations even though he knew full well what effect they had on him.

“I don’t think whether I’ve made a comment or not is helping your argument, Alexander,” James cut in, looking at Hamilton, but he glanced over at Thomas who was slowly loosening his grip on the edges of the podium, probably taking note of how bad he felt, whether he’d be able to say anything more or have to cut it off there.

“I think I’ve made my point,” Thomas said and James winced internally even as Thomas smirked at Alexander because he had to be feeling really bad if he stopped, stepping away from the podium and sauntering over to his seat besides James who looked over at him in silent question. Thomas gave him a smile, but when James looked at the male’s hands beneath the table, they were shaking.

 

 

 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” James whispered to him but Thomas could barely pull his face out of the pillow, could barely lift an arm to blindly grasp for James’ hand and squeeze it, whispering a muffled ‘don’t go—please, please, please, don’t go’ even though he knew that James had to go. “I have to go, Thomas—I’m sorry. I’ll be back in an hour, tops.”

And he wanted to cling on and keep pleading, knowing James would give in if he kept at it, but he let his grip loosen, let James slip his hand out of his after giving his a small squeeze, let him shuffle out of the room with a whispered ‘I’ll see you soon’ as he closed the door behind him.

Thomas simply turned his face back into his pillow and hoped the lack of oxygen would make him pass out.

 

 

 

“Can you believe him?” Alexander griped, stretched out as he was across the grass, John sitting by Hamilton’s head, watching Alexander with rapt attention, Hercules and Lafayette beside Alexander’s prostrate body, sitting and listening as well. “I mean, he has the gall to get all huffy with me and then he doesn’t even show up the next day for our next debate? Who does that?”

Lafayette had his lips pursed in thought. “Should I text him?”

John and Alexander’s heads whipped around to face him, devious smiles lighting up their faces and the Frenchman couldn’t help but wince a bit.

“Why do you have his number?” Hercules mumbled as he looked over the male’s shoulder as he pulled out his phone and opened his and Thomas’ previous messages.

“We were partnered together for a project.” Lafayette’s fingers flew across the keys, typing out the message and staring at the screen. Thomas typically didn’t take more than a few seconds to respond unless he was sleeping—but the man slept and rose like clockwork.

“‘Alexander’s bitching about you not being there for the debate’—pretty accurate summary,” Hercules snorted from over his shoulder, letting his chin rest against it, peering down at the words.

Alexander spluttered from where he was sitting and was about to retort that he most certainly did not bitch, that was Jefferson’s job, but Lafayette held up a hand to show he wanted quiet as the three dots appeared, signalizing a response.

‘Sorry, he’s indisposed at the moment’ is what the entire message said and Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up, reading the text aloud to his friends. They all looked at each other in confusion before collectively sighing, shaking their heads.

“Madison.”

“Doesn’t he know you’re friends?”

Lafayette shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say friends. We’re more, how do you say, acquaintances.”

“I knew he bailed because he didn’t want to face me!” Alexander cried out after a few moments of relative silence, arms pumping into the air in indignation before flopping back to his sides and John laughed, digging his fingers into Alexander’s sides and wriggling, chasing away his anger with laughter.

 

 

 

He, honestly, couldn’t remember a point in his life without the dreaded feeling of not being enough, of never being good enough creeping in on him, weighing on his shoulders and dragging him down. He tried, sometimes, to dig back far enough in his mind and remember a part where it wasn’t a problem, but it was so far back his memories were hazy.

His life was rather organized in pre-James and post-James.

He couldn’t really remember when they became friends. Some days—when he couldn’t think straight and nothing worked—he wasn’t really sure they were friends, but James was his everything, his one and only friend, his anchor in every way possible.

Every fiber of his being told him he didn’t deserve James. James was everything he wasn’t—kind, thoughtful, loyal, caring, warm. He was like warm chocolate and Thomas couldn’t help but feel guilty some days that he took up so much of his time. Who would want him around for so long? Everyone else he knew had made it abundantly clear that they couldn’t tolerate his presence for more than fifteen minutes—except for Hamilton, but that would be just to yell at him.

He couldn’t remember when exactly they became friends, but that was mainly because they hadn’t been friends when they initially started hanging out. It had been mainly his thirteen year old self inserting himself into every moment he possibly could with fourteen year old James, ignoring his desire to not be in Thomas’ company and sticking to him until he wore him down.

It made him hate himself sometimes whenever he thought about it, thought about how he hadn’t really given James a choice on whether or not to be Thomas’ friend—had not given him a choice to the point where Thomas couldn’t even pinpoint where James’ protests had faded into the distance and the male seemed to just accept his sentence of having Thomas cling to him.

Thomas hadn’t been very social when he was younger, but there had been something about James that made him want to hold onto him, to have that wonderful human being by his side in any way, shape, or form that he possibly could.

And when James had found out about this—about his little problem—two years ago when Thomas had run out of his medication and couldn’t go refill it? He stuck by him, letting his hands be squeezed tightly in Thomas’ own as James spoke to him in a soft quiet voice about everything and nothing.

And Thomas had held on tight, held on to his anchor, the man he had burdened since the beginning, because he couldn’t let go.

He just couldn’t.

 

 

 

“You know,” James murmured as they sat in a secluded corner of the library, Thomas with his chin propped in his hand and his eyes scanning the page of his textbook, although they flicked up to meet James’ when he spoke, “I wish you would stop thinking you’re a burden to me.”

James watched as Thomas barely controlled a flinch, his eyes slightly wide and casting about quickly before meeting James’ gaze with his own. “I don’t—”

“You do,” James told him and his foot gently nudged Thomas’ underneath the table, a sure sign that he was not mad and he saw Thomas relax just slightly, saw him look around again, fearing someone would overhear but returning James’ gaze with his own honest one. “You were mumbling about it last night in your sleep,” he clarified and watched as guilt seemed to encompass the man’s expression, his head ducking as if to hide his face behind a curtain of curls, but James was having none of that. “Hey, no, don’t do that.”

“How am I not, though?” he heard Thomas whisper and he immediately set about closing up his books, reaching out to grab Thomas’ hand and tug him up.

“I have a list of reasons, number one being that you’re my best friend. For number two through infinity you’ll have to wait till we’re back in our room to hear, so get your stuff together.”

 

 

 

Alexander blinked from his seat a few away from Jefferson’s, watching the interaction just a few ways away go down. He could hear it just fine—there weren’t a lot of people in the room and he was actively paying attention to hear what they were saying, his brow furrowed.

“You’re coming, right?”

“No,” Jefferson responded, looking up from his phone to look at the person before him and Alexander frowned, leaning just a bit closer in order to hear.

“Why not,” Lafayette whined, leaning over Jefferson and Alexander watched the male quickly turn his phone off, tucking it close to his chest, the motion nonchalant but he was pretty sure the guy was hiding something.

“I already have plans—not cancelable plans.”

Jefferson had plans? Why would he have plans?

“Fine,” Lafayette grumbled, dragging his feet as he walked over to Alex and slumped in the seat beside him. “Why won’t he come?”

“Maybe he’s not interested,” Alexander replied, smirking and Lafayette squinted at him with one eye.

“I do not appreciate what you are insinuating.”

He grinned, laughing at Lafayette’s expression and settling into his chair, watching Jefferson continue to type away on his phone, his fingers flying over the keys. “Who’s he texting?”

Lafayette leveled him with a flat look.

“Right—dumb question—of course it’s Madison.”

“Who else would it be?”

“What are we talking about?” John asked, flopping down in the chair next to Alex, smiling as he settled his bag under his seat.

“Alexander’s idiocy,” Lafayette deadpanned and Alex proceeded to smack him.

 

 

 

“I thought you would go,” James mumbled and Thomas buried his face further into the covers.

He had thought he would go, too. Everyone thought he would go. He was expected to. Hardly anyone cared if he just didn’t feel up to it or was having a lousy week and wanted to stay in that night. No one cared because it was just Thomas. Thomas who, unless he had a legitimate excuse he always lied about, had to be at every party he was invited to.

He didn’t want to go, though.

“I’m going to have to,” he whispered, tilting his head out of the covers so that the words were less muffled, looking up at James who looked down at him with warm, kind eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything. You can stay here with me and we can watch something funny.”

He wanted to—god, how he wanted to. But he had to keep up appearances. He couldn’t start crumbling now. There were things expected of him. He had crafted this image to hide his problem. He made his bed—now he had to lie in it. But he didn’t want to lie in it. He wanted to lie in bed with James and watch dumb shows on the television they bought specifically for this reason because it made it easier for them to enjoy it on the bed in any position versus using a computer.

“Don’t go,” James murmured, taking Thomas’ hand and tangling their fingers together. “You’ve had a rough week—you deserve a break, so don’t go.”

And he wanted to stay here with James, image and expectations be damned.

So, he did, shifting on their put together beds to make one large mattress and settling in against James’ side while he clicked through movies until he pulled up ‘Easy A’ and they settled in to watch it, a small smile on Thomas’ face.

 

 

 

“Stop being weird, Jefferson,” James heard and he cursed as he scrambled out of bed, grabbing a tissue and pressing it to his nose, wiping away the fluids as he stumbled to the door of their dorm room. He couldn’t hear Thomas, knew if his weird behavior was noticeable he most likely wouldn’t be responding.

Flinging the door open, he poked his head out, finding Thomas not a foot away, Hamilton a few steps behind him and marching closer. So he grabbed Thomas’ shirt and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut and locking it, ignoring Hamilton’s yells for Thomas to ‘open up the goddamn door before I kick it down’, muffling a cough into his sleeve and wiping his dripping nose afterwards.

“What happened?” he croaked, stumbling to the bed, Hamilton’s shouts unimportant to him even as Thomas fidgeted, looking at the door nervously like he thought Hamilton might actually kick it down.

“I ran out yesterday. I was re-filling them while getting your meds and Hamilton saw me and he wanted to talk about the debate and then he saw the pills and wanted to ask what they were for and I didn’t want to say they were for me because he’ll use it against me, but I didn’t want to say they were for you because I knew he would say something about your health and knowing you were here sick and waiting for me to come back with your things I knew it would set me off, so I just kind of, maybe, possibly ran away,” he mumbled, all the while pulling out the medication from the bag. “I think I got everything, though.”

James sat on the bed, breath rattling out of him as a series of coughs escaped him, muffled only by the tissue he had pressed against his mouth. He watched Thomas look at him in alarm, his hands fluttering nervously before tugging out James’ medication, pulling out one of the many bottles of water he seemed to have bought, handing them over to James, the lid for the bottle already loosened and a pill already out of the bottle, settled gently in his hand. “Thanks,” he rasped once the coughing had eased a bit, drinking down the pill and the water, watching as Thomas shuffled around a bit before grabbing his own bottle of pills and swallowing one down dry, a sort of noticeable relief descending upon him even though James knew the pill didn’t work that quickly.

“I got some of that healthy cough medicine,” Thomas told him, holding up the bottle with the reddish liquid inside, setting it down on the bedside table along with two more water bottles, all with the lids already loosened so that James wouldn’t have to struggle trying to open them in this state. “And I got some soup for you,” he added almost as an afterthought, holding up the cup of miso ramen. It was probably one of the blandest kinds of ramen he had ever tried—or, at least, this particular brand was, but it served him well when he was sick since it didn’t have all that much salt and the lack of taste made him feel better about not really being able to taste anything to begin with when he was sick.

He hummed to show his acknowledgement, muffling another cough in a fresh tissue, the old one tossed in the waste basket that was close to overflowing already and he watched Thomas tie off the bag without complaint and set it in the corner to take to the communal trash later, putting in a new bag for James to drop his next tissue into.

“Do you need anything else before I go prepare this for you?” he asked, and James gave him a weak smile that turned into a sneeze, the tissue barely coming up in time to cover his mouth and nose, body hunching.

“No, I’m okay,” he responded. “Did you get more nasal spray?”

Thomas nodded, handing the box over and James fiddled with it, taking out the bottle and spraying some into his nostrils, his sinuses clearing just slightly to allow him to breathe less raggedly.

“I grabbed some more Vicks, too,” Thomas mentioned, doing the same as with the water bottles and loosening the lid before setting it on the bedside table. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

James watched him go, thinking that the male was really all too precious, the miso ramen cup in his hand as he opened the door to face a fuming Hamilton and make his way down to the communal kitchens, never letting Hamilton’s eyes catch sight of anything in the room, confident smirk in place even as James saw how tight his grip was on the knob before the door closed.

 

 

 

“Jefferson,” the teacher called out, looking around the classroom and Alexander couldn’t help but frown, looking about the room and eyes settling on Madison who was looking straight ahead, though his fingers were moving under the table, his eyes glancing down for a moment and Alexander realized he was texting.

“Madison,” Alexander hissed, watching the male’s head pop up as the teacher marked Thomas absent, looking over at him, “where’s Jefferson?”

Madison blinked, looking down at his phone as it vibrated before standing and going to the front of the room, muttering in low words to the teacher and the teacher seemed vaguely alarmed before their expression shifted to sad as Madison showed his phone to them. The teacher nodded to whatever Madison said and Madison smiled before hurrying back to his seat, gathering his stuff.

“Madison?”

“He’s out,” was the curt, absentminded response he received before Alexander watched the male walk briskly out of the room, attention on his phone.

His brow furrowed, arms crossing over his chest. This would be the second debate Jefferson missed if the guy didn’t show up to the afternoon class they shared. Jefferson used to never miss a debate. It wasn’t like he cared—he really, truly, didn’t—but Jefferson was the only really good debate partner. No one else seemed to be able to spew the idiocy that Jefferson typically spewed and hold their ground against Alexander’s responses.

He sighed, frowning in annoyance at the door Madison had just run out of. Jefferson was being weird—as was Madison—and he wanted to know why, but he had no connections to Jefferson and he had no connections to Madison either—which was totally Madison’s fault, totally—and no one he knew had any connections to Jefferson. The guy had no friends other than Madison.

Huffing, he flipped open his notebook and began writing down forms of action to share with his friends and see if any of them were plausible to find out what was going on.

 

 

 

“How is he?” James asked, carefully nudging the door open and looking back at the doctor.

“He’s fine—conscious now, thankfully.”

Shuffling into the room, he moved towards where Thomas was lying on the white sheets, an IV hooked to his arm and his eyes focused on James. “Hey,” he whispered softly, watching Thomas’ lips curl up in a small smile, his hand reaching out for James and quickly clasped it in his own, looking down at him with warm eyes. “What happened?”

“I passed out. I think it was exhaustion and dehydration,” he looked over to the doctor who nodded his head.

“You haven’t been sleeping?”

Thomas shrugged, shifting to sit up. “I thought I was, but I keep waking up throughout the night; I didn’t realize how long it was taking me to fall asleep,” he mumbled, shifting awkwardly on the bed, his glasses perched clumsily on his face, his curls sticking up haphazardly. He looked like he did on the weekends when he stayed in and hung out with Madison all day.

“And you weren’t drinking water?”

“You got sick this week—I forgot. And then with my project and with,” he waved his hand, lips pursing and brow furrowed, “it just slipped my mind.”

James sighed, but nodded. He knew that Thomas was good at taking care of himself and they were good reasons as to why he hadn’t noticed anything was off. Giving a firm squeeze to his hand, he turned his attention to the doctor.

“Alright—is there anything we need to do?”

The doctor looked down at his clipboard. “We’re going to prescribe some supplements and vitamins to get your body back to equilibrium. We also want you to see a sleep specialist to address your sleeping habits,” the doctor said and James nodded, feeling Thomas’ hand twitch in his grip.

“We’ll definitely do that, thank you.”

The doctor handed him a slip of paper with the list of supplements and vitamins. “We’d like to keep him overnight just to make sure everything is fine and that nothing is in immediate danger of failing,” the doctor added, smiling when he received another nod before exiting the room.

Once the doctor was gone, James’ full attention was on Thomas, letting the male tug him onto the bed with shaking hands, settling in and letting Thomas curl into his side, seeming to want to make himself as small as possible.

“They don’t want me to have any drugs in my system while I’m here tonight,” Thomas mumbled and James shushed him softly, shifting to tug his bag off his shoulder and pull out the wooden box Thomas kept in his bedside drawer, passing it over, watching as Thomas’ shaking fingers grasped at it, sliding off the lid before he was grabbing the little wooden blade that looked like an odd spoon, curving at the end but not being round, like a wooden butter knife with a cupped end. “Thank you,” he breathed, digging through the sand with the piece of wood, scooping some into the little wooden cup that came with it and settling in to make sand castles.

James had always preferred using the sand rather than Thomas’ pills to calm him down and get the man’s thoughts to stop for just a moment and let him breathe, but Thomas couldn’t carry around the box everywhere. He would be judged for that, made fun of. People were cruel and Thomas had a lot of people who didn’t like him for saying what he believed in—although sometimes he, admittedly, didn’t say it in the nicest fashion, but the same could be said about Hamilton and people didn’t seem to want to run him over.

Blatant favoritism, James had always concluded.

The point was, though, that if Thomas showed the slightest weakness, people pounced on it like vultures, wanting to tear him apart—and this one thing was the one that would most effectively do that and James didn’t want that for Thomas. He didn’t deserve that.

“Hamilton asked where you were,” James commented absently, playing with Thomas’ hair, and scratching the nape of the man’s neck as he worked with the thick, gooey-like sand. He listened to Thomas hum in response, smoothing the sand down therapeutically, cup set aside for the moment as he tried to make it all even. “He’s going to start prying, probably.”

He felt Thomas tense and kept the light scratching going until the male relaxed again.

“You know I’m with you through all of this, right?”

Thomas stopped drawing lines into his smooth sand, turning to look over at James. “I know.”

James nodded, the smallest of smiles tugging up the corners of his lips, gentle and genuine. “Good.”

And Thomas beamed back.

 

 

 

Facing Hamilton had to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences known to man—at least for Thomas who wanted nothing more than to either wring Hamilton’s neck or walk away and sit in his room eating chocolate covered pretzels.

“When are you going to understand that what you’re saying is ludicrous? No one here agrees with you,” Hamilton continued and Thomas let himself slouch over the podium in exhaustion, propping his chin up on his hand, elbow resting on the table. “I mean, maybe it’s the fact that only Madison hangs out with you—and we all know he’s only doing that because you’re the only guy with similar views as his—that makes you not realize the utter bullshit that comes out of your mouth,” Hamilton continued to prattle on and the teacher moved to open his mouth and tell Hamilton he was getting off topic, but Hamilton talked right on over him.

Thomas gritted his teeth, trying not to lose his cool, but the words hit too close to home, brought his number one insecurity to the forefront of his mind. He bit the inside of his cheek, remembering James’ words from the other day—how Thomas wasn’t a burden to him, how they were friends because James liked him for whatever reason.

“Are you done?” he drawled, leveling Hamilton with a bored look, watching Hamilton splutter for a moment before continuing on his rant, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Thomas let his nails click against the wood as he let his thoughts roam, watching Hamilton’s annoyance climb and waiting for the right moment to say something, if he felt like saying anything at all.

“Your mind is so skewed, it’s worse than Madison and his sickness,” Hamilton continued and Thomas looked up, met James’ eyes across the room, smiled a little bit when their eyes met.

“Have you considered that the reason so many people appear to agree with you is because you’re too busy bending over for all of them?” Thomas muttered, straightening, watching Hamilton’s face grow red. “Now, this has nothing to do with the topic at hand.”

“What? Is your lack of friends being pointed out wounding to you?”

Thomas sighed, feeling the anxiety clawing at his throat. “Not particularly—you’re just boring me, to be honest.” Hamilton let out a sharp laugh that grated on Thomas’ ears, made his skin crawl, made a lump form in his throat because he knew Hamilton was laughing at his response, laughing because he knew to some degree it was affecting Thomas. “Nothing you’re saying has anything to do with the topic at hand. In fact, I am completely convinced you just have no counter-argument.”

“‘No counter-argument’? I’ll show you a counter-argument, you ass.”

Thomas glanced at the clock, concealing his desperation and following relief behind a careful mask as he processed the position of the hands on the clock. “I’m afraid you’re out of time,” he responded, letting his lips curl up into a smirk even as he felt like he was shaking apart on the inside. “It was a pleasure winning,” he tossed over his shoulder as he sashayed to where James was standing already holding his bag, pressing a small sack into his hand as he passed the bag over. “Thanks,” he mumbled, slinging the bag over his shoulder, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, squeezing and kneading the sack between his fingers, the rhythm helping slow his heart rate.

“No problem,” was the response he received as they headed out of the room. “Do you think you can drive or should I?”

Thomas sighed, mulling it over in his head, trying to see if the torrent of his thoughts would calm fast enough. He knew they wouldn’t, knew they never did, knew that they wouldn’t be calm until he was in the safety of their room, but then they would only be calm enough to cut into him and all his greatest insecurities and assassinate whatever stability he had felt.

God, he hated this.

“You drive on the way there; I’ll drive when we’re heading back.”

James nodded, accepting the keys as they exited the building and moved towards the parking lot.

He gritted his teeth as he saw Hamilton and his merry bunch of friends a few paces away, talking, laughing, glaring at him when they caught sight of him—except for Lafayette because he was nice enough to keep whatever disdain he held for Thomas hidden. The looks made Hamilton’s words echo in his skull, made his gaze sharpen as he caught the slightly pitying looks on their faces as they looked at James.

Poor James who in being friends with Thomas essentially cut off most communication from other people, except for whenever Thomas wasn’t around because Thomas knew James had been friends with Hamilton, was currently friends with Burr—who also didn’t seem like he held too much against Thomas—and talked to Laurens and Lafayette with relative consistency, seeing as they shared some classes.

And Thomas—well, he just had James.

James was his everything—he was the literal reason Thomas got up some mornings and he was always there for Thomas, and Thomas did his best to be there for him in return. And James would put up with all of Thomas’ crap and didn’t hesitate to tell him when he was being an ass, but he wouldn’t just tell him, he would help him stop, help him change and be better. He was the light at the end of the tunnel.

And Thomas was the black hole that sucked it all in and didn’t let it escape.

God, he hated Hamilton.

He had been doing better. It had been a good day; he had been fine.

“Do you want to go out and eat afterwards?” James asked, making Thomas tear his eyes away from the ground that he had silently been staring at, sack rolling in between his fingers. James’ eyes were kind, an understanding in them.

“You have to meet Burr after this, remember?”

“I know,” James murmured. “But I can cancel, you know, if you need me. Aaron will understand.”

“No,” he shook his head, Hamilton’s words still reverberating in his skull, making his chest seize, but he ignored it, “it’s fine—I’m fine. We’ll get some fast food on the way back, okay? And you can go hang out with Burr like you planned.”

“Are you sure?”

He put on a smile that he hoped didn’t look all that forced. “Yup,” he made sure to pop the ‘p’ at the end, but at James’ vaguely unimpressed look, his shoulders sagged a bit, smile faltering, knowing he couldn’t fool James—he didn’t want to fool James. But he wanted James to go out and hang with Burr. He didn’t want James to just have only him as friend just because Thomas only had James. James deserved more than that—he deserved to be able to share his kindness with the world. “I’ll call you if anything happens,” he assured.

“Promise,” James hedged, concern clear on his features, but he relaxed a bit when Thomas nodded his affirmative. “Alright, then—now, hurry up. The doctor’s expecting me at two and it takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

 

 

 

James blinked as he heard the rustle of bed sheets from beside him; blinked bleary eyes open to see the vague outline of Thomas’ body shifting under the sheets before Thomas suddenly jerked up, limbs flailing out to scrambled over the top of the bedside table.

Shoving himself into a sitting position, he looked over worriedly, watched as Thomas seemed to find what he needed because he became still, arms tucked close to his sides, his body bent forward.

“Thomas,” he whispered, watched as he looked over in surprise, though he couldn’t see his face. The small jump and stutter in the outline was enough to indicate the man’s surprise. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” the male croaked back in response after a few beats of silence.

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

He heard the soft hitch in Thomas’ breath before he was rasping out, “Can I?” voice soft and hoarse. James couldn’t help but wonder what had been playing in Thomas’ mind all afternoon while he was gone, couldn’t help but worry as he whispered a soft confirmation, hearing more than seeing Thomas’ mad scramble to get out of bed, felt the soft tremors in his body as he tucked himself up against James, long body pressed as close as possible to his own.

Rolling over, he tucked his head under Thomas’ chin, let their legs tangle together, let his arm come up, resting his hand on the small of Thomas’ back just under his shirt, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the smooth skin.

He could feel the brush of the material of the sack—the stress ball Thomas always had near him when in their room—against the nape of his neck as Thomas tucked his cheek against the top of his head, one arm looped around James’ shoulder, fingers rolling the sack between them, squeezing it rhythmically, his other hand folded under his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” James asked softly, feeling the heat of his own breath as it brushed against the thin skin of Thomas’ clavicle.

“No,” Thomas mumbled in response after a few moments, the tremors in his body slowly easing away, only a small twitch here and there now. “I don’t know what it was. I just couldn’t breathe,” he added, pressing a bit closer and James continued rubbing circles in the small of the male’s back, hearing Thomas sniffle softly, felt the way his arm twitched as his hand squeezed tight around the sack. “I’m fine, though.”

As always James couldn’t help but wonder if those words were true.

 

 

 

“How have you been doing?”

He felt twitchy, like he was shaking apart on the inside and he didn’t know how to pull himself together, how to secure the pieces, how to stop the shifting of plates and halt the earthquake. He felt like his mind was drowning in turmoil and like he couldn’t think or breathe or do anything at all. He felt like he was completely alone and like he was putting out the only light in his otherwise dark existence.

“Fine,” he mumbled, shifting in his seat, feeling his skin prickle. “Not fine,” he added, looking down at his fingers rolling the sack in between them. “I don’t really know.”

“Well, tell me how your week has gone.”

He grasped the sack tight in one hand, muscle in his jaw twitching, throat working to get the words out but nothing escaping.

“Thomas, take your time,” the woman soothed softly, leaning forward slightly. “Remember, you have ample time.”

He nodded, curls bouncing, feeling strung tight like a bow. “They keep starting as good days,” he admitted quietly, rolling the sack between his hands, feeling the scratch of the fabric against the skin of his palms, feeling it give under the pressure applied.

“They don’t stay that way?”

“No,” he breathed out. “I keep feeling like I’m going to be fine but then someone says something and suddenly I’m not fine anymore and I have to struggle to keep myself calm until I can safely get out.” He looked up, eyes wide, panic written on his features. “Why did it get so hard suddenly, Martha? Why is it so much worse?”

He didn’t really expect the sudden swell of emotions inside him, didn’t expect to feel them suddenly crash into him—didn’t expect to drown in them, unable to even attempt to keep his head above the water.

He felt arms around him, strong but less firm than James’ holds, but familiar all the same and he leaned into it, trying to control his breathing, trying to fight away the tears, but they were there and they were leaking out and he was shaking all over.

“Have you had a lot of projects to do recently?” Martha asked after a few minutes, once he was slightly calmer, his breaths not so ragged and his heart feeling less like it was about to climb up his throat and jump out of his mouth.

Thomas nodded, sniffling softly, soft tremors wracking his frame.

“Have you had a lot of debates?”

He nodded again.

“How about exams,” Martha asked again and he nodded once more, following along with her logic. “Have you considered it being the stress? You’ve been doing an awful lot.”

“But it’s never gotten this bad before—even when I’ve had all of that going on.”

He hated feeling like this—weak and vulnerable, lost and confused. It wasn’t him. It didn’t feel right. He wanted to know what was going on and what was happening. He wanted to know why it was he felt like this. He wanted to know why it was that he had to be like this. He wanted to know why everyone thought he was so awful that they would ostracize even those who socialized with him. He wanted to know why the hell James stuck around despite that.

“What has happened that has always turned your day form being an ‘okay’ day to a ‘not so good’ day?” Martha asked instead, pulling away from the soft embrace she had been holding him in to keep him calm, looking at him with the same steady and warm gaze she always looked at him with.

She had never looked at him like there was something wrong with him. She always treated him kindly—even when Thomas had his first session with her and was nothing but foul and defensive and someone even he would consider absolutely atrocious.

“Hamilton,” he admitted helplessly, rolling the sack in his hands with a small frown.

A similar frown appeared on her features, one that crossed her face whenever Thomas mentioned Hamilton.

“What did he do?”

He shrugged, shifting in his seat awkwardly, pursing his lips. “He just makes me feel really bad. I know I’m not perfect—not by a long shot—but he just,” he cut himself off, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know. He, uh, he likes to point out that Jemmy’s my only friend,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “And I love Jemmy, I do. He’s my everything. But that’s just it. He’s my everything, but because he hangs with me, I’m his everything by default. All I do is be a burden and he has enough to worry about without my dumb problems on top of it.”

“Does he feel that way?”

“He says he doesn’t.”

“Do you believe him?”

He shrugged. “Most days I do, but then I remember what Hamilton said and I can’t help but question it. I mean, I’m practically the only guy that has the same views and ideas as James. There’s no other reason for him to be my friend.”

“What else does Hamilton say?”

“He says I have something wrong with me.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with you?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe,” he whispered, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly.

“But you know it’s not true,” Martha pressed and he nodded. “This doesn’t make you broken, Thomas.”

“I know,” he choked out, scraping the backs of his hands over his eyes, feeling his throat close up and his chest seize, breath escaping him in a trembling rush. “But how am I supposed to believe that when everyone tells me otherwise? And they don’t even know the extent—they don’t know about this. They don’t know how I’m even more messed up than they think. How am I supposed to believe that there’s nothing wrong with me when the first thing people say when they talk to me is just that?”

Martha placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you think you need a higher dosage for your meds or more frequent sessions? Do you think maybe you want to be checked into a hospital?”

“I don’t want more drugs or to be forced to be in such a clinical environment. I want to be fixed.”

He felt like he was splintering apart, always felt this way during these sessions.

“I just want to be fixed.”

“We can’t fix what isn’t broken, Thomas. You are not broken.”

“Then make me believe it.”

 

 

 

“Jefferson has missed a lot of classes lately,” Alexander heard Burr say from where he was standing by Madison’s seat, a small frown etched on his face, something bordering on concern but not quite scrawling itself onto his features.

Alexander watched Madison shrug his shoulders, coughing lightly into the handkerchief he carried around. “I got him sick accidentally so he’s sleeping it off now. I’m only here because he needs the notes and he took notes for me while I was out.”

Burr nodded and the topic of conversation switched but Alexander couldn’t help but frown. It didn’t sound right. Even though Madison hadn’t stuttered and it certainly sounded like the truth, it felt like there was more.

Maybe he was reading too much into it.

Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face before turning his attention back to the paper he was writing, wanting to add more to it while he had time, focusing his attention on it and pushing all thoughts of Jefferson from his mind.

It wasn’t until the end of class that he bothered to think of Jefferson again, but only in passing as he walked up to Madison. “You and Jefferson are missing a lot of classes,” he couldn’t help but say as he fell into step with the male, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“It can’t be helped that we got sick.”

He hummed in response, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve never seen Jefferson miss so much of class, though. He must be slowly losing it,” he chuckled, trying to make the atmosphere lighter despite Madison’s curt response. The glower that settled on Madison’s face, though, gave him pause.

“I have to go. See you later, Hamilton,” the male grumbled, pushing ahead and leaving Alexander standing there, his eyes slightly wide, looking after him as a feeling of shock settled over him.

Was there something actually wrong with Jefferson? Well, other than the obvious.

He frowned, trying to think through it, but then there was an arm around his shoulders and Hercules was talking about something and all thoughts fled his mind as a grin bloomed on his features as his friends surrounded him, all chattering happily.

Who cared if Jefferson was fine or not?

He was nothing more than an ass, after all.

 

 

 

Break rolled in and Thomas just stared at the ceiling of the room. He was sitting next to James as he typed something on his computer, the explanation the male had given of what he was doing nothing more than a small whisper in the white noise flooding his head. Everything seemed to fade out of focus, the edges of his vision blurring, the ceiling fracturing as he gaze at it until rapid blinks cleared up the image.

“Thomas,” James suddenly whispered, startling him from the trance he had fallen into, making his whole body jerk and sending his heart pounding against his rib cage and a sudden onslaught of feelings crashed against him, knocking against his bones and squishing his insides, “why are you crying?”

He shuddered, inhaled shakily, felt the stuffiness of his nose, swallowed thickly to rid his mouth of the saliva, felt the familiar itch of dried tear tracks and the warmth of new tears as they slipped out of the corners of his eyes and slid to his hairline.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, reaching over to the bedside table to grab a tissue and wipe away the tears before hurrying to sit up and blowing his nose.

“Do you want me to hold you?” James asked and Thomas hated how gentle and kind he was, how he was willing to help him out in whatever way possible. He hated that it made Thomas yearn for him and deprive him of other relationships—platonic or otherwise—because Thomas couldn’t let him go, wasn’t sure he could survive without James there—wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.

He nodded jerkily, pressing a fresh tissue to his nose and letting James envelope him in a hug, let him shift them so that they were lying down, Thomas’ head resting in the crook of James’ neck, James’ hand rubbing slow circles into his back, his voice drifting into his ears as he talked about everything and nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me to visit our families?” James asked softly and Thomas burrowed closer, sniffling against the tissue and wiping his nose as it dripped, his lips feeling chapped as he dragged in breaths through his mouth.

“I don’t want to go this time. Things aren’t good at home,” Thomas mumbled. “I can’t deal with it like this.”

James nodded—Thomas could feel the shift in the movement of his hair and he sighed softly, curling one hand around James’ shoulder and simply clinging on, tears silently dripping onto the soft cotton of James’ shirt.

“Alright, but you know you can call me at any time, right? I expect you to call me every day, actually.”

“I don’t want to bother you that much.”

“Thomas,” James coaxed, the soft pressure in his voice making Thomas pull away slightly so that he could let their eyes meet, “I want you to call me every day. I want to talk to you every day. You’re not going to bother me. Do you understand?”

He nodded, but it felt like his mind was at war. Why would James want to talk to him every day? It didn’t make sense. Well, it did. They were friends. Of course he would want to stay in contact. But a traitorous part of Thomas’ brain whispered that they weren’t that close, that James only hung around him because there was no one, that he only wanted Thomas to call because it would give him an excuse to get away from his family because—as much as he loved them—they could get annoying.

So he nodded—because he didn’t want to give voice to those thoughts that always seemed so true nowadays.

 

 

 

“Hamilton and I are partnered together for a project,” James announced when he got back to their room and he watched Thomas look up from his work, top part of his hair pulled back into an awkward bun held in place by a pencil, Thomas’ round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, lips swollen with repetitive abuse—probably from Thomas’ incessant chewing on them while he worked.

“Ah, really,” Thomas asked, setting down the pen he was writing with and directing his full attention to James as he shut the door and ambled over to his bed. “What are you guys doing? Is it like a packet or something?”

“Research project,” James said, setting his bag down on the foot of his bed and toeing off his shoes, slipping under the covers, wanting nothing more than to curl up and not have to think or feel or react.

Thomas hummed, propping his chin on his hand, elbow resting on his knee, his intelligent brown eyes focused on James. It was such an intense concentration that used to make James flustered, the amount of care Thomas would put into talking to him, regardless of the level of importance, had been baffling at the start of their friendship but now was a much appreciated and endearing part.

“Are you guys going to work in the library?”

“I imagine so,” James muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do it was work with Hamilton. “I mean, if any of his friends are around, we probably wouldn’t get anything done. And I would never bring him here.”

“Why not,” Thomas questioned and James couldn’t help but feel embarrassed but a tad exasperated as well. Out of the two of them, it should be Thomas who remembered that kind of stuff.

“This is your safe space. I’m not going to bring someone here when it’s where you come when you need to be alone and relax. Besides, I don’t want his papers all over and you’ve seen how he works. I don’t want to imagine how long it would take to get him to stop once he gets into it.”

“And you actually sleep, so,” Thomas trailed off with a slight laugh, rubbing one of his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

“Yeah,” James agreed, standing to shuck off his shirt and pants. “I’m going to go shower. I think I might head to bed early.”

Thomas nodded. “Alright—I might turn in early, too.”

James nodded, giving the man a small smile before exiting the room.

 

 

 

“I’m shocked Jefferson isn’t here.”

“Well, Thomas isn’t in this class with us,” James muttered and resisted the urge to smack Hamilton. Sometimes he wondered why he had been friends with the guy.

Hamilton had a certain pull, a certain energy that drew people to him, but James couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he had been pulled along as well. Hamilton wasn’t a nice person to people with opposing viewpoints, which was exactly what James had, and he certainly wasn’t a graceful loser. He was energetic and social, but it irked James how the man had no filter and claimed he was all for discussion and hated people without an opinion but then proceeded to attack those with opinions differing from his own.

Hamilton and Thomas had several similarities—James would be the first to admit that. Hell, he had even gotten Thomas to admit to it. However, there were such noticeable differences. Where Hamilton was wild and unreserved, Thomas was smooth and refined. Where Hamilton was impulsive, Thomas was restrained. Where Hamilton crossed lines, Thomas refrained from doing so until one had been crossed first.

James sometimes wondered if Thomas would have been like Hamilton had it not been for his state, but he always shut down that train of thought. While they were similar, Thomas and Hamilton were very different and James had seen Thomas in debates. He was cool and collected and listened to the other side before stating his piece—or vice versa. He wouldn’t slam someone for having different views than him—the guy got along with Lafayette and the French man had similar view to Hamilton’s. Thomas would never have done what Alexander had.

Then again, Lafayette was really the only example James had. No one else really hung out with Thomas—apart from John Adams, occasionally, but he remembered Thomas and John’s relationship had grown sour a long time ago and John had done to Thomas was Hamilton had done to James.

“He’s always with you, though,” Hamilton pointed out, chewing on the end of his pen.

“He has his own stuff to do,” James mumbled, tapping away at his computer.

Hamilton gave a small snort and James resisted the urge to smack the guy with his laptop, instead electing to continue looking at his screen, typing away as he pulled up article after article that they would need. He blinked as his phone vibrated and he tore his eyes away from the computer screen, looking down at his phone on the table.

Thomas’ name lit up the screen and he caught Hamilton’s eyes on it as he grabbed it and held it up to his ear, continuing to scroll through the web as Hamilton looked through their assignment.

“Hey, Thomas,” he said, casting a small look around to make sure that the librarian wasn’t nearby to yell at him.

“Hey,” Thomas responded from the other side of the line. “What do you want for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking.”

James pursed his lips, pausing in his scrolling to consider his response. “How about burgers—the ones from that place by Luis’?”

He heard Thomas hum in consideration, could hear the softness of the music playing in the background on the other side, a sign that Thomas was in the car. “Alright—do you want anything else with that?”

“Care to grab some ice cream?”

“You know it,” Thomas laughed and James couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, I’m going to let you get back to your work. When will you be back?”

“Around six or seven,” he replied, casting a glance to the time at the corner of his computer screen.

“Alright, see you then,” Thomas crowed before hanging up once James had said his good-bye.

Sighing softly, he set down the phone before returning his attention to the computer, blinking as he caught sight of Hamilton’s wide-eyed gaze. “What?” he muttered, ducking his head a bit as he finished skimming through the last article before opening up a new document to begin writing the first part of the project.

“Sorry, it’s just—what was that?”

“A conversation,” he deadpanned, a slight bit of annoyance bleeding into his tone. “You engage in them every day; I would think you would know what they were.” It wasn’t the most mature thing James had ever done, being biting and spiteful, but he was getting tired of Hamilton’s continued insensitivity towards Thomas. Thomas was more sensitive towards Hamilton when he had found out the guy had ADHD, mainly because he, of course, didn’t want to be the reason something went wrong, or whatever, again.

He remembered it clearly, the day Thomas had found out. It hadn’t been a pretty moment when he found out. Hamilton’s pills had gotten lost because of an incident with Thomas and Hamilton had been a wreck the next day. He remembered helping Thomas look all over for Hamilton’s pills before finding them, remembered watching Thomas apologize to Hamilton as he handed them back.

“No, I know that,” Hamilton grumbled, looking down at the papers strewn before him. “It’s just weird.”

“What is?”

“Seeing someone talking to Jefferson and not hating him.”

He didn’t dignify the statement with a response, returning his attention to his work. He refused to talk about anything regarding Thomas after that, glaring at Hamilton whenever he so much as thought of bringing it up.

Hamilton wouldn’t understand—at least not when it came to Thomas.

 

 

 

“You’re going to start carrying them around?”

Thomas shrugged, looking down at the pill bottle in his hand. “Martha told me I should have one on me at all times in case of emergencies—with how bad it’s getting. It’s just until I get it under control.”

James nodded. “Is that why you got the new bottle yesterday?”

Thomas nodded in response and James could only sigh, watching as Thomas stared down at the bottle in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“What if the same thing happens to me that happened to Hamilton? I don’t want people to know. You know what’ll happen if people know.”

James felt his heart break at Thomas’ broken tone, at the way his hands shook minutely and his lips pursed to stop their trembling. “It’ll be fine,” James assured the male but he knew that it wasn’t exactly true. He knew exactly what would happen if people found out. Thomas wasn’t a well-liked person on campus and James didn’t even want to imagine the way people would take advantage of Thomas’ problem, use it to push him over the edge, use him and manipulate him. Thomas didn’t have the friend Hamilton did. He just had James, and James would do his best to defend Thomas if this worst case scenario came to fruition, but there wasn’t much one person could do against almost everyone.

It was one thing to hide it when people didn’t know because no one knew what to aim for and Thomas was a master of masks. He traded masks in the middle of conversations with a fluidity that had to be admired. No one really knew Thomas as Thomas other than James himself. And it was one thing to wear those masks when people didn’t know he was wearing them. It was a lot harder to wear those masks if people knew because those masks suddenly had a target and suddenly everyone knew what to aim for.

“Do you want to put them in a box to hide the bottle?”

Thomas looked up, blinking before nodding his head, a look of relief overcoming his features as James looked about their room for a box big enough for the orange pill bottle but small enough to fit neatly in Thomas’ bag.

“Here,” he said as he found one box James had gotten during a trip to the city with Thomas that used to contain a glass sculpture but was now empty, the sculpture resting on the bedside table. He took the pill bottle from Thomas, gently placing it in the silk lined boxed and closing the lid, securing the small latch that had been on the box to ensure the glass sculpture didn’t fall out at any point, and then handing it back to Thomas, watching him look down at it with slight awe.

“Thanks, Jem,” Thomas mumbled and he smiled a bit, reaching over and taking one of Thomas’ hands, giving it a firm squeeze.

“You ready to go?”

Thomas nodded and James gave his hand another squeeze before leading him out of the room.

 

 

 

It had been two months.

The year was almost over, just over a month left.

But Thomas should’ve known his luck never held out.

James wasn’t there. Instead he was off hanging with Burr like they had planned. And Thomas had thought everything would be fine. Hell, he had even decided to go out and eat, enjoy a nice meal by himself since James and Burr were going to eat during their hang out, and Thomas hadn’t felt like cooking for one.

It was supposed to be fine.

He had been fine.

The restaurant he chose was one of his favorites. It wasn’t fancy or anything, but it served quality food and had a wide range of recipes from around the world. He had been craving something simple, though, so he had ordered the chicken tenders and was waiting for his food, headphones plugged in his ears, sipping his sweet tea—which made him feel infinitely better since sweet tea hardly existed around there—and enjoying the video playing on his phone.

And then his father called.

And his good mood went down the drain for the duration of that conversation which consisted of a bit of yelling on his father’s part and quite a few hissed responses on Thomas’ part. And he could feel the panic attack building as his father’s voice grew louder.

He couldn’t even process the words anymore, only hearing the anger in the gruff tone of the man’s voice and the irritation in the volume of his growls. He could only feel the sting of words but not understand what it was that had been said, just knowing that it felt like someone was wrapping him up tightly in piano wire and it was cutting into his skin.

He had sat there, shaking and staring down at the table, mind spiraling, until his father had hung up with an angry hiss of a probable dismissal, but Thomas wasn’t sure.

He had simply scrambled for his bag that was beside him, tugging and pulling until he found what he needed—the box James had given him. He quickly undid the clasp, tugging out the pill bottle, unscrewing the lid successfully on his third try and shaking out a pill, making sure it was just one and not two—James would kill him if it was more than one—and downing it with a swig of sweet tea before sagging against the booth he was sitting in, head lolling forward, his forehead pressing against the coolness of the table below.

He could still feel his chest seizing, could feel his limbs shaking, could feel the jitteriness spreading to every part of his body, could feel the pain that mixed in as the tension in his muscles grew—as they quivered and twitched under the pressure and locked up tight.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that sprung into his eyes, taking slow, measured breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, tried to remember James’ voice talking about random things to help calm Thomas down, tried to remember the feel of his hand on the top of his back, light and unrestricting, warm and welcoming.

James.

He had to call James.

James had told him call him if this happened.

James would be able to calm him down.

He straightened, about to reach for his phone, but he froze as he caught sight of the figure in front of the table, processed who it was, realized what it was they were holding in their hand, felt his stomach drop through the floor.

“If you would be so kind as to give those back,” he whispered out, voice steady but quiet, not nearly as strong as he would like, but his hands were shaking under the table and he was trying so hard to maintain some semblance of control even though he could feel this making him shake apart faster, making him fall to pieces when there was no one around to pick them back up but him and his broken remains.

Hamilton’s eyes met his, wide and confused, and his hand tightened on the pill bottle for a moment before he was slowly setting them down on the table.

Thomas didn’t waste a second in snatching the bottle up, making sure the lid was screwed on tight before shoving it in the box, doing up the clasp, and shoving it in his bag. His heart was in his throat and he curled his hands into fists under the table in an attempt to stop their shaking, praying Hamilton would leave—wanting nothing more than for Hamilton to leave.

“What are those?”

“Pills,” he responded shortly, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to keep a semblance of calm and control.

“What are they for, though?”

Thomas had never hated Hamilton’s curiosity more. He had never hated his own tactical mind more. He had never hated his luck more.

“Stomach spasms,” he muttered, apparently his mouth still moving and able to spit out a lie even while his brain was in shambles, trying to keep everything running when all he wanted to do was call for James to pick him up and simply shut down while he waited for his chicken tenders so that he could eat and hopefully be done by the time James arrived.

Hamilton frowned but nodded.

Thomas hated that the male didn’t seem to believe him. He hated how he knew exactly what would happen next. He hated that he didn’t know what to do to stop it from happening, but there was nothing to do. Hamilton had seen the name of the pills. He could easily look them up.

He hated that he hadn’t switched them out of their bottle, but he hadn’t wanted to get caught with them in an M&M bottle and be presumed to be a drug dealer—which is what would’ve happened, especially with skin like his.

“Did you need something?”

Hamilton jerked, seeming to come back to himself. “Well, I was planning on e-mailing Madison, but I saw you here and I was going to ask if he was with you because I need to talk to him about an assignment we got for class.”

Thomas nodded, but the mention of James had him panicking even more internally. He still hadn’t called the male. It could get worse. This could be one of the times he passed out. He was supposed to call James when this happened. He had taken a pill—he hadn’t written down the time he had taken it, though. Fuck, how long had it been? Two minutes? Five minutes? James would be angry with him for not calling. James wouldn’t be able to come pick him up as fast because Thomas hadn’t called him yet. What was he supposed to do? He had to get rid of Hamilton, but that was like one of the world’s greatest mysteries. What should he do? What was he expected to do? What was he supposed to do?

“No, he’s not here. He’s hanging out with Burr right now.”

Thomas thanked God profusely for letting his mouth still function as it should, for letting him be able to string together a steady sentence.

Hamilton gave a small nod. “So, you’re eating alone?”

There was a curl to Hamilton’s words and it made Thomas’ stomach flip-flop, made him want to vomit, made him want to run out of the restaurant, made him want to cry and bury himself under the covers of his bed and never come out.

“I do it on occasion,” he responded, Southern drawl more pronounced, thick and heavy like how his tongue felt in his mouth. “Now, if you would please,” he made a shooing motion with his hand, making sure not to leave it suspended in the air long enough for the trembling to be visible, “git, I would appreciate it.” His lips curled up into a tight, cursory smile, his nails digging into his palms under the table.

Hamilton blinked and then gave another jerky nod. “Right—okay—I’ll see you, uh, whenever,” the male muttered before wandering off and Thomas could feel himself practically vibrating with the force of his trembling and he reached for his phone shakily, messing up the number three times before simply resolving to go through his contacts and click on James’ name, resting his head on the table as it rang.

“Thomas?”

He wanted to weep at the sound of James’ voice, concerned and soft. It was like a balm all on its own.

“Hey,” he whispered and he it felt like his mouth was swollen, like the words would only come out slurred.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just need you to talk,” Thomas whispered, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as he wrapped his arms around his middle. “Please.”

“Well, Aaron and I were just about to head out to eat. We finished out work about five minutes ago and we were busy deciding on a place,” and Thomas just listened to James talk, letting the silk of his voice wash over him, letting the small Southern accent soothe his nerves and push back the attack the rest of the way as the pill began to take effect. He let his head rise and took a drink of the sweet tea, feeling himself calm down as much as he knew he would be able to at that moment. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good now. I’ll make it through just fine. My food hasn’t arrived yet, so I’ll wait for a bit.”

“Thomas,” James sighed and the concern in his voice made Thomas’ heart flutter at the knowledge that the male cared while making his insides twist in shame for making James worry so much.

“You can pick me up after you and Burr are done eating and hanging out. I won’t go anywhere.”

“Are you absolutely sure you’ll be fine on your own? Will you talk to me about whatever happened when I get there?”

“Yeah, I will.”

He heard James sigh, listened to his breathing as silence reigned on the other side of the line before James released an exasperated huff, a sign that Thomas had won. “Fine—we’ll be done in about two hours, probably, since Aaron promised to hang out with Mulligan later, also.”

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Alright,” James responded. “Be safe, okay? Don’t hesitate to call me again if it gets bad.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Okay—well, I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

 

 

 

“Thomas, it’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

James honestly didn’t know.

 

 

 

It wasn’t okay.

 

 

 

James wasted no time in immediately smacking Hamilton with his bag the second that the male burst into the room and marched up Jefferson while saying in the loudest voice humanly possible, “You lied! Those were not anti-spasmodic pills. Those were anxiety pills.”

Hamilton blinked up at him with wide eyes, leaning back against the desk he crashed into. His mouth was gaping and he looked confused and angry and hurt but James didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to care as he turned to look around the room and he saw exactly what he and Thomas had feared.

People looking shocked, but already some people were looking at Thomas with small smirks, their minds working, devious plots forming on how to use this to their advantage, how to use it to strike Thomas down in anything and everything.

And he looked down at Thomas to see him simply sitting there, expression blank, shoulders pulled back, jaw set. He saw Hamilton look around, saw him realize what he had just done, what he had unwittingly revealed to absolutely everyone—and of course it would be everyone. Lord knew it wouldn’t remain in just the classroom.

“Fuck,” Hamilton muttered. He looked frantically at James.

“I think we need to go back to our room. What do you think, Thomas?”

Thomas blinked and James cursed internally as he watched Thomas’ head drop, watched a lone tear drop and stain the fabric of his pants.

“Right,” he mumbled, shouldering his bag and hurriedly coaxing Thomas to stand who quickly stood, shouldering his bag as well and immediately exiting the room with the same confident stride as always, but James knew better.

He could only hope that things wouldn’t get too bad.

 

 

 

“I messed up.”

“Alex, what did you do?”

 

 

 

“How have you been, Thomas?”

“Everyone knows now.”

 

 

 

James wished he hadn’t been wrong.

He really wished he hadn’t been wrong.

 

 

 

The idea that classes were hard was laughable when anyone else said it now, James thought as he watched Thomas press his fingers into the viscous sand, homework and essays done, graduation naught but a few scant days away.

It had been a month and a half of utter torture, of people trying to tear Thomas down, of people taking fire to the suddenly clear target.

“You know, you are ridiculously strong,” James whispered, leaning over and resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder, book abandoned for the time being.

“Really,” Thomas asked, looking down at him with wide eyes hidden behind his glasses.

He hummed in response, resting his hand on the small of Thomas’ back and rubbing small circles onto it with his thumb. He wasn’t lying. He had said it before. He didn’t think of this as Thomas’ ‘problem’ or as something to be ashamed of. He thought of it as something that made Thomas so much stronger, someone to be admired, because for all the struggles he had faced and for all the cruelty he had endured—especially in the last few weeks—Thomas managed to come out on top. And he continuously did it again, putting himself in both high and low stress situations constantly because he was more than just this ‘problem’.

The ‘problem’ was more of a minor inconvenience.

“I was thinking we should get our own place,” Thomas mumbled suddenly, pausing in his kneading of the sand to look over at James nervously.

“Really,” James asked, mimicking Thomas’ expression from before unknowingly, eyes wide as he looked over at Thomas. The male shifted awkwardly, fingers pressing into the sand again.

“I mean, only if you want to. But I was just thinking, seeing as we’re graduating, it would make sense to get a place to live and I kind of wanted to maybe stay with you in any way you’ll have me.”

James smiled, wrapping his arm around Thomas’ waist to give him a one-armed hug. “I think it’s a great idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on instagram ( @saruma_aki ) or tumblr ( @saruma-aki )
> 
> Feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments down below! <3


End file.
